


Look Like a Freshman

by digopheliadug



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Underage Drinking, tipsy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 16:24:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5423858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digopheliadug/pseuds/digopheliadug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana’s single, Rachel’s recently broken up with Brody, and things between Kurt and Adam seem to have fizzled out.  Sounds like the perfect opportunity to go out clubbing with Kurt’s friend from NYU and the prospective freshman that he’s been showing around campus!  But when it turns out the visiting freshman is someone they all know, will Kurt’s plans for a no-drama hookup be ruined?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look Like a Freshman

Kurt rolled his shoulders as he emerged from the subway in Bushwick.  It was Saturday, and he’d spent most of the day at NYADA, practicing in the studio space and reading up for his classes in the library.  He felt wrung out, and was looking forward to an evening of relaxation.  He stepped onto the sidewalk, his phone buzzing with texts, coming in all at once now that he was above ground and his cell signal had returned.

> **From *Rachel*** : Will you pick up cake on your way home?  I want to wallow this weekend.  Are there any sad musicals on Netflix that we haven’t watched recently?
> 
> **From *Rachel*** : I think cheesecake.
> 
> **From *Rachel*** : Santana wants /strawberry/ cheesecake.
> 
> **From Santana** : And breadsticks!
> 
> **From James** : What are you up to tonight?
> 
> **From James** : A bunch of us from QU have prospies staying with us for preview weekend, and we wanna show em a good time.  Club?

James was an acquaintance of Kurt’s who went to NYU, and was involved in the Queer Union there.  Kurt had met James at a networking event for LGBTQ student activists, and they’d gotten along well, exchanging numbers with the hope that when they had time, they could hang out and get to know each other better.  

Kurt thought that an evening out at a club sounded much more relaxing than wallowing with Rachel while Santana said rude things about Brody, which seemed to be her version of emotional support.  He fired off a text.

> **To James** : Sounds fun!  Can I bring my girls?
> 
> **From James** : Def!  Meet at The Monster at 10?
> 
> **To James** : Will do.

He didn’t stop for breadsticks for Santana, but he did pick up a strawberry cheesecake.

* * *

It turned out to be a job of work to convince Rachel to go out, but Santana was on board pretty much as soon as she heard “club.”

“We spend too much time moping around this loft as it is.  You want to go get our drink on?  Sold,” she’d said.  “What about you, lady?” she asked, elbowing Rachel.

“I don’t feel like going out,” Rachel said with a pout.  “I’m still really down about my breakup with Brody.”

“Kurt and Sir Downton Abbey are all fizzled out, and you don’t see him whining about it,” Santana said.  “I think what you need is a hookup.  In fact, I think we could all use hookups,” she concluded.  

“Santana, how am I supposed to find anyone to hook up with?  It’s a gay club!” Rachel whined as she dug into her cheesecake.

“Maybe if we get you drunk enough, you’ll make out with Santana,” Kurt suggested dryly.

“ _I’m_ definitely not getting drunk enough for that,” Santana interjected.  “In fact, I’m not sure there _is_ a level of drunk that would make me okay with that.”

“Rude!” Rachel replied.  Still, Kurt could tell she was amused, and coming around to the idea of going out.

“C’mon,” Kurt urged.  “We’re not meeting them ‘til ten.  We still have time for a sad musical before we have to get ready, if you’re so committed to the idea.”

Rachel smiled, and agreed.

* * *

Kurt approached the club where they were meeting James with a girl on each arm.   _All three of us cleaned up nicely_ , he thought with satisfaction.  As they entered, Kurt mused on the discussion Santana had started earlier, about finding hookups tonight.  It was true that he and Adam had been drifting apart, and had recently decided to call it quits for good.  Kurt was still involved with the Apples, and the two of them had managed to remain friendly, which was nice.  It was for the best that they’d broken it off, though, since what Kurt had liked best about the relationship was the easy affection, and the ego boost of a cute guy’s interest in him, and those things weren’t exactly the basis of a strong relationship.  He was beginning to think that there might be something to Santana’s suggestion, because a casual hookup seemed like the perfect way to tap into that easy affection that he’d been missing without getting anyone’s feelings entangled and hurt.

Once they were safely inside, Santana made a beeline for the bar.  Kurt and Rachel took a moment to look around before snagging a hi-top table, and Kurt waved Santana over when she made her way back towards them with her hands full of shot glasses.  She hopped adroitly onto a stool once she reached them, in spite of her incredibly tight dress.  Rachel eyed the shots dubiously.

“What did you bring us, Santana?” she asked.

“A blowjob for Kurt,” she said, winking as she pushed a shot of what looked like Bailey’s topped with whipped cream towards him, “a lemon drop for Rachel, and a kamikaze for me!”

Santana threw back her shot immediately, and Rachel did the same before making a sour face.  “Whew!” she exclaimed.

Kurt took a moment with his.  He sipped it, first, and Santana teased, “don’t you know how to take a shot?”

“Look at this, Satan, it’s not a real shot.  There’s whipped cream on it!” Kurt protested.

“So I got you training wheels.  Be grateful!” she replied.

“Anyway, it tastes good.  I wanna sip it!” Kurt said.  He tasted Kahlua, too.  “Do they make whole drinks like this?”

“Probably,” Santana laughed, and shrugged.

Scanning the crowd idly, Kurt caught sight of James’s curly blond hair.  He caught James’s eye, then waved him over.  He was at the forefront of what looked like quite a big group of people, and they all made their way across the floor towards Kurt’s table.

“Hey!” James shouted over the crowd noise, which had only increased as he and his friends neared.  “Glad you guys could make it!”

“Hey, James!” Kurt replied.  “These are my roommates Santana and Rachel.”

“Nice to meet you!” James offered.  “I’d introduce you to the folks I brought, but there’s a lot of us, and I can’t remember the names of all the prospective froshes,” he laughed.

Some of his friends laughed, but Kurt heard a teasingly indignant “hey!” from somewhere behind James.

“Okay, fine,” James chuckled, turning around to pull someone forward.  “This one is my own personal frosh -”

“- Sebastian Smythe,” Kurt finished.

“You guys know each other?  Small world!” James said, biting his lip as he observed the two of them with interest.

_Well, he cut his obnoxious CW hair_ , was Kurt’s incongruous first thought.   _He looks good_ , was his second.

“Kurt,” Sebastian said, with that satisfied smirk that he wore when he had a particularly cutting remark prepared.  Apparently he was saving it, though, since he went on to nod at Kurt’s roommates, too.  “Santana.  Rachel.”

“Fievel,” Santana offered.

“We knew each other back in Ohio,” Kurt explained to James, who looked as if he wanted to ask for more details, but didn’t want to impose.  Rachel obliged him anyway.

“Yeah, ‘cause he committed show choir terrorism and kept trying to steal Kurt’s boyfriend.”

_Show choir terrorism_ , James mouthed silently, incredulous.

“And as much fun as this is,” Sebastian said, “I’m gonna go dance.  Catch up with you in a bit, James?”

“Sure,” James nodded, and his friends dispersed.  He pulled up a stool to Kurt’s table, settling in to chat.  “You have to tell me more about this!  Do I need to inform NYU that they have a criminal in their incoming class?” he asked, half serious.

Rachel looked on the verge of agreement, and Santana seemed to have wandered off, probably after a hot girl, so Kurt answered with a laugh.  “Don’t worry about it, James, those felonies were probably just youthful indiscretions.”

James looked dubious.  “You have to at least explain ‘show choir terrorism!’” he insisted.

Rachel began, “So, you know Kurt was in a national championship show choir in high school, right?  That’s where Santana and I know him from, we were in that choir, too.  I was co-captain and featured soloist!  Anyway, Sebastian was in a rival choir.  They were worried about facing us in competition, so Sebastian photoshopped a picture of my fiancé -”

“- that’s my step-brother,” Kurt interjected.

Rachel continued, “- naked and in heels, and threatened to post it on the internet if I didn’t drop out of the competition!”

“So, did you?” James asked, with interest.

“Of course not!” Rachel replied, affronted.  “We don’t negotiate with terrorists!”

James seemed bemused, unsure of what to think, and he took the easy out.  “So, hey, I’m gonna go get a drink,” he said.  “Do you guys want anything?”

“Yeah,” Kurt began, as he worked to dig cash out of his pocket.  “Something sweet?  Surprise me.” 

“Lemon drop, please,” added Rachel, and Kurt handed James a twenty in order to cover her drink, too, but James pushed the money back across the table towards Kurt.

“No worries, it’s on me,” he offered.

“That’s really nice.  Thanks,” said Kurt.

Once James was out of earshot (and it wasn’t far, in this noisy crowd), Rachel turned to Kurt.  “I think he likes you!” she squealed happily.

Kurt wrinkled his brow.  He’d come to the club toying with the idea of a hookup, and hooking up with James would assuage some of his worries about the potential dangers of going home with a stranger.  Still, Kurt was unenthused.

“Well, that’s awkward,” he said to Rachel, “since it’s not happening.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“He’s all… delicate and fashionable.  Too much like me to be my type,” Kurt offered.

“Ooh, let me help you find someone else,” she said, scanning the crowd.  “What about that guy?” she asked, pointing to a well-dressed, dark-haired boy currently dancing nearby.

“Too much like Blaine,” Kurt vetoed immediately.  “He was kind of an exception to type, anyway.”

“What do you usually look for, then?” she prodded.

“Tall,” Kurt said decisively.  “Athletic.  Almost a frat bro aesthetic, actually.  I know, it’s so embarrassing.”

Kurt had missed James’s approach, but he chose that moment to rejoin the conversation.

“What’s this about frat bros?” he asked, setting drinks down on the table in front of Kurt, Rachel, and himself.

“Kurt’s type,” Rachel explained.  Kurt noticed James’s face fall slightly, and he mentally thanked Rachel for the sideways, non-awkward rejection assist.

James recovered quickly.  “Hmm,” he mused, glancing out over the dance floor.  “The tall, athletic frat boy… Doesn’t really fit any of the guys that came out with me tonight.  I mean, except Sebastian, of course.”

Kurt, taking a sip of his unidentified neon cocktail, coughed loudly.

“Drink not working for you, Kurt?” James inquired.

“No, I like it,” Kurt demurred.  “A bit just went down the wrong way.”

Rachel giggled.

* * *

Kurt remained at the table for a while, chatting with Rachel, plus James and his NYU friends, who came and went from the table as they wanted breaks from dancing.  Once he finished the drink he’d been sipping, Kurt started to get up.

“I think I’m gonna dance a bit,” he offered.  “Will someone stay here with the coats and stuff?”  One of the NYU students nodded, and Kurt turned to Rachel.  “Wanna come with?”

“No thanks!” she said with a broad, tipsy smile.  She seemed to be enjoying her chat with one of James’s friends, a pretty blonde girl who had bought her most recent drink.  

“Just so you know, she’s not a lesbian,” Kurt said softly as he passed the blonde girl.

“Little bit bi?” the girl asked quietly in reply.

Kurt considered briefly, then shrugged.  “I guess you’ll find out.”

He eased his way through the crowd towards the center of the dance floor.  He began moving to the beat, loose with drinks consumed and the lightness of a night out at the end of a busy week.  He mixed moves from his contemporary dance class with his signature shoulder shimmy, because there was no one to tell him he couldn’t.   _Take that, Mike Chang_.

When _Born This Way_ begun blasting over the speakers, Kurt closed his eyes as he continued to move.  He felt the ebb and flow of the crowd of dancers that surrounded him like energy feeding him, boys brushing against him, trying to get a piece of the light he emanated.  He felt a hand on his bicep, a different hand at his hip, the press of another boy’s torso firm against his back.  He reveled, gloried in it.

The music shifted again, and he sighed with hedonistic pleasure as he opened his eyes.  The crowd had continued to shift around him, and the only dance partner left to him was the boy currently pressed against his back, who he still couldn’t see, but could feel.  The boy lowered his head down to Kurt’s ear, and Kurt felt his breath hot against him before the familiar voice shattered his reverie.

“Nice moves,” Sebastian said.

Kurt spun tightly to face Sebastian, noting absently that Cassandra July would have been proud.  “What the hell, Sebastian?” he demanded.

“I was giving you a compliment,” Sebastian drawled.

“Well, forgive my confusion,” Kurt volleyed.  “I’m not sure that’s ever happened before.”

“You’re no Sebastian Smythe, but it’s hard to believe you’ve _never_ gotten a compliment.”

“From _you_ , jackass,” Kurt replied with a short laugh.  He swiped his thumb up his neck, following the path that had been made by a bead of sweat, stopping it before it dripped onto his collar.  Sebastian was quiet for a moment, and Kurt saw his eyes track the movement of Kurt’s thumb against his neck.  He smiled, and Sebastian returned it.

Kurt thought back to James’s comment earlier, that Sebastian was Kurt’s type, and objectively it was true.  He was Kurt’s type, and for whatever reason he seemed to be flirting, and if they hooked up Sebastian probably wouldn’t axe murder Kurt afterwards.

_Am I really thinking about this?_

“Dance with me,” Kurt said, and it was not a request.

It was different, dancing with Sebastian with his eyes open.  At first the other boy pressed up against his back like he’d done before, when he didn’t know yet that it was Sebastian, but then Kurt spun and they danced close, face-to-face, his chin tilted up so he could meet Sebastian’s eyes.  Again Sebastian leaned down, lips to ear, but this time he didn’t speak, and Kurt just felt his breath, and the scrape of the light stubble on his jaw where it brushed Kurt’s cheek.  Sebastian’s hands were on his hips, and his hands were on Sebastian’s waist, taut and muscled the way Kurt liked, and Kurt was past _thinking about this_ and right into _doing this_ as he let his lips brush Sebastian’s jaw, lightly enough that he might be able to maintain deniability if he had to.

But he didn’t, because then Sebastian’s lips were on his cheek, and his jaw, and _God_ his _neck_ , and then it wasn’t just lips, but teeth, and Kurt stopped holding himself apart and let his hips slide against Sebastian’s, relishing the soft, surprised sound that Sebastian made and letting himself smile at the sensual power of feeling Sebastian hard against him.

The song ended, and Sebastian’s hand caught his wrist.  “Is your place nearby?” Sebastian asked.

“Brooklyn,” Kurt returned with a sigh.  “And you’re staying in James’s dorm.  Fuck.”

“Ugh.”  Sebastian was still pressed up against him, all along the lines of his body, and when he threw his head back he exposed the long, graceful arc of his neck to Kurt’s gaze.  Kurt moved his lips to trace the hollow of his throat, then cast his eyes up to Sebastian’s, fluttering closed, before flattening his tongue and licking in a firm, unbroken line from the collar of Sebastian’s shirt to the corner of his jaw.

Sebastian took a deep breath before opening his eyes, dark where they met Kurt’s.  He cupped Kurt’s jaw firmly with one long-fingered hand, and kissed him hot and deep but too briefly.  “If you don’t think of someplace,” he said, before kissing him again, “I’m going to fuck you right here on the dance floor.”

Kurt gasped as his gut twisted with sharp, immediate _want_.  “Fuck it,” he groaned.

“Hmm?” Sebastian mused interrogatively.

“C’mon,” he said, taking Sebastian by the hand and pulling him along, past couples and groups dancing, or drinking and talking at tables.  “Where are the bathrooms in this place?”

“Seriously?” Sebastian asked.

“If you don’t want me to second guess, you should probably stop asking questions,” Kurt replied shortly.

“Fair enough.”

 Finally, _finally_ they found the bathrooms, but Kurt was dismayed to see that there was a line for the men’s room, starting inside next to the sinks and extending through open door.  He turned to Sebastian with a petulant, inarticulate whine as Sebastian trailed his fingers up and down Kurt’s spine.

“The hazards of big-city clubbing,” he offered with a shrug, and he pulled Kurt down the club’s dark hallway, past the bathrooms, past more doors, marked ‘maintenance’ and ‘employees only,’ (trying the handles, finding them locked), finally reaching the door marked ‘exit.’ 

“It’s cold out!” Kurt remarked, his scarf and jacket left behind at the table.

“I’ll keep you warm,” Sebastian offered with an ironic quirk of his lips, as if he knew what a line it was but couldn’t quite help himself.  Kurt let out a soft, unwilling chuckle, and then they were through the door, and Sebastian was pressing him up against the concrete wall in the darkness, one hand at Kurt’s hip, the other stroking along the side of his throat.

Kurt rolled his hips up to meet Sebastian’s and undulate against them, their erections making muted contact through fabric, and they both groaned with the sensation.  Sebastian moved his hand from Kurt’s hip to his fly, slipping the button, easing the zipper down, breathing in sharply at the feel of Kurt’s cock through his boxer briefs.

Kurt’s fingers scrabbled at the wall behind him, rough against his fingertips, as Sebastian stroked him lightly through the fabric of his underwear.  Sebastian stepped back, just the barest fraction of an inch, but Kurt leaned unconsciously to follow before Sebastian laughed, resting a firm hand on his shoulder, pressing him back into the wall.

“Not long,” Sebastian said with a laugh, his voice soft.  His hands moved near his waistband, and Kurt couldn’t see it in the dark, but then Sebastian was back.  “Just wanna be right up next to you, okay?  I’m not going anywhere.”

Sebastian eased Kurt’s cock out of his underwear, and Kurt felt the silken brush of Sebastian’s naked cock against it, and bucked up with a moan.  Sebastian wrapped his long-fingered hand around both of their erections, stroking them together, and let out a guttural moan of his own.

“Fuck, Kurt,” he rasped.

“Yes.  Fuck!” Kurt groaned in response.  Bracing himself against the wall with one hand, he laid the other hand on the small of Sebastian’s back, pulling him closer.  He craned up to nibble lightly at Sebastian’s neck, until Sebastian tugged sharply on their cocks, twisting his wrist lightly at the end, and Kurt was overwhelmed by the sensation.  He breathed in deeply, a breath full of Sebastian’s scent, salty with sweat but somehow still clean, and so masculine.  Then he let his head fall to nuzzle Sebastian’s shoulder.

It was dark, but not quiet, because New York City never really is even when you’re alone, and it struck him hard.  Kurt was in the alley outside a Manhattan club, no barrier between him and any curious passerby, being jerked off by, _let’s face it, my worst enemy_.  Just the thought had him on edge, and the just-too-dry slide of his dick against Sebastian’s was hot and so perfect, and it all curled together inside him like the delicious anxiety of something that might be bad but was also _so good_.

Sebastian was panting shallowly, his hips jerking minutely towards Kurt, and Kurt had a moment of twisted pleasure that someone who had tried to make him feel ashamed of the way he looked and dressed - _Puerto Rican Pride float... that gay face_ \- was unequivocally, undeniably attracted to him.  Falling apart for him.

Sebastian looked wrecked, and Kurt _felt_ wrecked.  It was the alleyway and the boy and the power and the sensation as Sebastian jerked him faster.  It was the noises Sebastian made, inarticulate with pleasure as he came, and then Kurt was coming, too.

Sebastian pulled his hand back.  There was some mess on Kurt, but most of it was on Sebastian’s hand, and Kurt swallowed tightly as Sebastian _licked_ their mingled ejaculate from the back of his hand, then wiped that hand down the thigh of his jeans.

They were both breathing hard, and Kurt leaned heavily against the wall, unsure if his legs would still hold his weight.  He tried to put himself back together, fastening his clothes while Sebastian did the same.

After a moment, Kurt moved to jiggle the handle of the door they’d left through.

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered.

“Hmm?” Sebastian asked.

“My coat and stuff are still inside, and this door’s not opening,” Kurt said.

“Shit, mine too,” Sebastian said, and they both started to laugh.

Kurt ran a hand through his hair and straightened his vest, but if he looked anything like Sebastian did at the moment, there would be no mistaking his appearance for anything but ‘well-fucked,’ and he gave up with a sigh. 

Still laughing, Kurt and Sebastian circled back around to the front of the building and approached the door.  They flashed their wristbands to the bouncer, who gestured them back in with a laugh.

“Step out for a smoke, boys?” he asked teasingly.

“Something like that,” Sebastian offered.

 


End file.
